


Sickness

by Ribbonshalos



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy, Sickness, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 23:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbonshalos/pseuds/Ribbonshalos
Summary: A sudden sickness comes upon Sombra after using her translocator, but she suspects it's from something else entirely.





	Sickness

The files are hidden behind simple firewalls. Tapping her nails along the purple infected keyboards, she breaks through. The little protection of the company’s secrets are only tissue paper to her. One by one, she breaks the code, taking what wanted to be left hidden.

“Are you finished yet?” Reaper’s voice growls into her ear. 

“You always rush me,” she pouts into her commlink, straightening out of the simple office chair. The security guards still lie on the floor. Taking her wires from the computer system, the glowing screen displays a purple skull before crashing completely. Just a little gift she’ll leave behind.

“Sombra,” his gravel like cords demand as shotguns sound in the background. He must not like the company. 

“Meet you at the ship, Gabe,” she says, leaving him to his own task. 

Curling her nails into a loose fist, she translocates.

The early morning sun just peeks over the horizon as Sombra appears on top of the roof. Their ship will drop in soon enough after Reaper joins her.

It comes in a sudden wave. Nausea. She grits her teeth before closing her eyes. It will pass soon enough. It will pass, it will pass, it will pass. Breathing in through her nose, and out through her mouth, Sombra keeps her jaw held tightly.

Saliva gathers in her mouth, and she doubles over to vomit.

Sombra breathes for a solid moment. In and out. Straightening, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Her brow hardens into disgust and questioning. 

Never has she vomited before. Her thoughts first go to the stolen technology she uses to modify her body. It may be defecting now. 

“Sombra,” Reaper shouts just as wind picks up from the ship’s entrance. She turns, smiling slyly.

“Coming, Gabe,” she calls, meeting the hooded terrorist without a backwards glance to her evidence of sickness. As they enter the ship, his gaze pierces into her backside. It’s as if he senses what she doesn’t want him to. 

Just like her time with McCree. A few weeks have already passed without him.

It’s safer to be apart, especially when Reaper began getting suspicious. It hurt to tell him so, to have him agree, but they both know hardship. It seems to be their only home. 

She remembers their last night before she walked away. It was just the whiskey and stars and their bodies. He felt right. He always does. 

A new thought blooms in her mind, stilling her chest with the weight of it.

The thought is impossible, but even she doesn’t know this for certain.  

*

The softest sound echoes, perhaps from a footstep, but McCree doesn’t care to describe the noise as he reflexively grabs his gun lying on the table stand beside him. In one moment, his peacekeeper aims at the heart of the trespasser in his room. Half out of bed and blinking his eyes in the darkness, Sombra’s piercing eyes come into view.

McCree swears as he lowers the gun.

“That was a little dramatic, don’t you think?” she asks, raising one sharp eyebrow.

“Olivia, I could’ve killed ya,” he shoots off, angry while still trying to be quiet. Pulling himself out of bed, he finds his jeans on the ground and promptly throws them on over his boxers. She only watches in quiet amusement. 

“I know what you can do, Jesse,” she says, hushed as a ghost herself. 

The little smile on her face vanishes as he steps across the little space between them. In the darkness, foxglove floods his senses. The taste of her lips still edge on his memory. 

“I thought ya told me I wouldn’t see ya until ya were done with Talon,” he says, still holding the heaviness she left in his heart. 

They both agreed it was best to part as she refused to leave Talon, but his hands still long to brush against her dark skin. It’s been nearly a month, but he still craves her high. The crash may kill him this time, but it will be heavenly. 

“Something’s come up,” her voice is soft now, unsure. “I needed to see you again.”

That’s all he needs to hear to run his thumb over her cheekbone and bring her close. Her palms rest against his bare chest, familiar and molded to each other’s skin as he takes her kiss. Soft and slow and hungry. It lightens his heartbeat to feel her want. 

“Jesse,” she breathes out for one moment as his arm wraps around her waist. “I need to see your doctor friend.”

He immediately pulls away. Wide eyes search her person for any marks or scratches. 

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he asks, finding no blood but finding no reassurance either. 

“I’m okay, Jesse,” she speaks comfort, but her gaze doesn’t lighten. A rarity, but he enjoys when she lets herself be vulnerable. The trust of the hacker is something he holds close. 

“I just need a confirmation about my… implants.” 

His gaze immediately flickers to her neck. If he were to pull her close and ease his head over her hair, he’d see the technology along her spine. The purple lines along her skull glow softly in the darkness. They used to be bright, but now all he sees is gray.

“Are you in pain?” he asks lowly.

“No,” she almost rolls her eyes, “No. Just get me to Dr. Ziegler.”

McCree’s arm doesn’t loosen from her waist. She always keeps him on his toes. Appearing suddenly in the middle of the night after such a lapse of closeness and in need of a doctor. 

He pulls her close. It’s not for a kiss, but to simply let the warmth of her skin stain his chest as she leans into his shoulder. Her hands press against his back, giving him that comfort. 

“Alright, darlin’,” he murmurs. 

*

He pulls a shirt on as they head out of his room within the watchpoint. The grim expression set on his brow lifts for a few moments when she comments at the lack of shin, but only for a few moments. 

Her little thought is still blooming wildly in her own mind. Speaking it will cause ripples that can’t be taken back. This may simply be her translocation malfunctioning  and causing her to be ill, but that will be only her… situation. Perhaps she’ll slip back down to Dorado for help on her implants. McCree will join her. She doesn’t trust anyone else. 

Warm, callused fingers slip between hers as they silently pad through the hallways of the watchpoint. McCree peeks around every corner, listening just as well as she for any approaching bodies. They hit the ground level, and come upon a set of double doors that slide open upon their presence. 

Mercy is still at her desk in the middle of the night. The evidence is stained under her eyes and in the dim lights and many papers stacked upon her desk. Her head lifts at their arrival, causing her expression to shift into an array of emotions. What causes her brow to divot in worry and distrust is upon the hacker’s appearance beside McCree. 

“McCree, what’s going on? Why is Sombra here?” her voice is cool, steady, but the exhaustion leaks through. Sombra is no stranger to staying up nearly all night, but keeping yourself going through the daytime is stupid. 

“Howdy, Mercy. I know this doesn’t look all that great, but we need yer help. She’s sick,” He eases gently with a careful tone, nearly pleading to the unyielding doctor. At the mention of her ‘sickness’, the doctor looks over her tucked along McCree’s side. 

“Do they not have doctors at Talon?” she mutters, standing up and gesturing to a patient bed along the back wall. 

“Oh they do, I just would rather have someone competent going over the finer parts of me,” Sombra says with a steady expression. “McCree highly recommends you, Dr. Ziegler.”

Mercy offers no response as they step to the bed. She sits on the edge as Mercy pulls up a rolling chair with a tray of medical instruments. This doctor will be the only one to have her on medical record, but if it turns out to be worst case scenario, she’ll need it for future reference. 

“Take my blood first,” she says, earning a hard glance from Mercy. “It might pinpoint what’s going on.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your symptoms first?” her gloves slip on easily over her hands. 

“Because the blood is an easy bet, doc,” she hints, as if it’s not the thought plaguing her mind that demands it.

The doctor stills her actions, holding her gaze firmly.

“I can’t help you if you don’t let me, Sombra.”

“Help me first, doc,  _por favor._ ” 

“Mercy,” McCree asks quietly, giving both of them space but still letting his gaze linger heavily on Sombra’s hair. “Please.”

A soft sigh escapes Mercy’s lips as she fixes a bind around her arm. 

“What have you gotten yourself into, McCree?” she asks, sending a scolding look to his honey eyes.

“Trouble, as usual,” he grins, causing her own lips to tug upwards. 

The doctor takes a needle between her steady hands.

*

They’re both quiet as Mercy works in the back of the lab. Her silence is off, something McCree’s only known in early mornings or quiet confessions. Now, it feels wrong. 

She only asked for her blood to be drawn. This isn’t something involving her implants, unless it is and he simply doesn’t see the connection. There’s a distant look in her sharp irises. He doesn’t ask yet, just waits with his hand on her thigh while stealing Mercy’s rolling chair for a hot second. Familiar fingers run through his hair, slow and soothing as she seems to pick her own thoughts apart bit by bit.

“McCree,” Mercy’s voice causes them both to straighten. He gets to his feet at her approach. There’s no expression on her hard face. 

“I need to speak to Sombra alone.”

Before he can part his lips, Sombra interjects with, “It’s okay, doc.”

Her unreadable mask narrows into troubled concern.

“Sombra, you’re pregnant.”

The breath in his lungs loosen from his mouth. His gaze turns to the woman he’s come to know as her dark brown irises looks back. The smallest smile tugs at her lips. In the smallest moment, fear wavers in her always sharp and knowing gaze. 

“Guess it wasn’t my implants making me sick then.”

He’s had so many come and go. Through Blackwatch and to the days of wandering and back to Overwatch. Even Sombra left for a time, but she came back. The smallest uncertainty of his reaction towards a child of their’s growing inside of her almost pains him so. 

His hand slips against her side as he presses his lips into her temple. It’s almost as if he wants to collapse, out of shock and ecstasy. The softest breath of relief leaves her at that. 

She’s pregnant. They’re going to raise a baby together. 

“I’m done with Talon now, Jesse,” she murmurs in their private moment. 

“Good,” he murmurs against her hair, overwhelmed and steady all at once. “We’ll work this out, darlin’.”

*

It takes a while to get through Mercy’s lecturing and recommendation of vitamins and dos and don’ts, but they eventually slip out of her office. The doctor is the only one who knows of hers and McCree’s relationship at the moment, including knowledge of the baby. 

“Castillo?” he says as they get to his room.

“I have a place there. It’s safe,” she says, not liking the mental image of her getting round and useless. Any doubt that made her tremble, however, now washes away at every glance of his honey eyes. There’s only excitement, and the determination of coming with her to her homeland. 

“Sounds like a fine place,” he agrees, already pulling clothes from the closet. 

Maybe it’s the hormones already getting to her, but she takes his wrist. He faces her at her touch, and she moves her fingers to link between his. For a moment, she muses at their locked hands before facing his open expression. 

“I can do this without you, Jesse. You should stay here.” 

It burns her tongue, but his expression immediately knits together in dismay. 

“Olivia,” his hand cups her cheek, securing her gaze in marbled honey. “I’m not going to let ya and our baby go off on yer own. A man’s gotta take care of his family.”

Their family now. Her family. 

She hates that emotions climb up her throat, but she smiles. Blinking away unattractive wetness in her eyes, she squeezes his still held hand between hers before leaning up on her toes.

Their lips find each other. It’s a short, chaste embrace, but she finds her heart settling inside her chest. His arms are strong, and wrap her securely in his warmth. Smoke and pine fill her with their nights of before, and the nights to come. 

They part, but hover close enough to feel the other’s breath against their cheek. She pecks her mouth against the corner of his.

“Hurry, _vaquero_ ,” she murmurs. He sets to gathering the last of his few belongings. 

She waits, sitting on the edge of his mattress. Like gravity, her hand moves to her still flat stomach, and imagines the face of the baby. They’ll look like Jesse, handsome and strong.

“Yer already glowing, darlin’,” his voice breaks her from her thoughts with a wide grin.

“Oh please,” she grumbles, standing.

His mouth brushes against her cheekbone with a laugh as they take to the door. With one bag, their two hearts and a little family growing, they slip into the night. 


End file.
